Hunger Game Alchemy?
by ElizaBell3
Summary: Iris Malbore, almost average district 9 girl. Almost. What will happen when an alchemist is reaped into the Hunger Games with a single piece of chalk? You only need to know about alchemy, not the entire Ed, Al, etc.
1. Iris Malbore

**Hi all new readers and loyal readers! I am ElizaBell3, writer extraordinaire (in a way). I was thinking this would be a normal fan fiction, but then *Ding* I had an idea. Hunger Games+ Alchemists=EPIC STORY! Please enjoy!**

"Iris, this is the third time this week! Are you ever going to get over it? She's dead, okay? Dead!" My father was never the nicest, but he's been especially cruel ever since mother died last week due to a police accident. It wasn't her fault for dying, but I often felt like it's my fault for not warning her that there was a riot going on down town.

I am Iris Malbore, dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. My family: Father, little sister Alee, and myself, live in district 9 of Panem. We are the grain district, and most of us don't care for training for the Hunger Games, unless of course someone we know is drawn to leave. Speaking of, the tribute drawing is tomorrow. Most of the time, a random child is reaped, so I don't bother watching the updates on television. Because Mother has passed away, I will be added extra times for tesserae. Therefore, I am entered twenty times, so I am very unlikely to be drawn. About a 5% chance, I would say.

There's also a special skill some of us District 9 folk have acquired. It's Alchemy- the science of equal exchange- giving up something to earn something of equal value. My mother taught me the basics of alchemy when she was still alive. Not a single alchemist has been drawn in the Hunger Games, but you never know. Maybe this year will be different.

That night, I sleep with ease, knowing life would presume as always. Or at least, that's what I thought….

The day came, and father dressed my sister and me in dresses. I'm wearing one of mother's old dresses, a slightly sun-bleached light purple dress, a white shirt underneath, white socks and black shoes.

"You look beautiful, Iris," Alee comments, smiling up at me. I lean down and hug her. She's 11, so she can't be reaped yet, and I'm so thankful for that.

"I'll be off, then," I say, taking the door knob in my hand. My father is gripping Alee's shoulder in worry.

"Good luck, honey," He mutters, and it's odd how he's so sincere with his words.

I turn the handle and leave our small one story home. I head out to the town square, where shops are mainly located. I pass by a family friend before the ceremony.

Most of the houses in district 9 are thatched cottages, but none are like Uncle Kive's. He has a unique home with smooth walls and a tiled roof, none like anyone had ever seen. That's one reason why he gets so many costumers. He's not really our Uncle, but he feels like one without a doubt. Uncle Kive sells daily utensils such as barley, wine, and meat.

"Hello, dear! You'll be late for the reapin' doll, and then you'll be dead for sure, aye?" He chuckles, spit-cleaning a shot glass to my utter disgust.

"I'm just passing by, Kives!" I laugh, "And I'm sure I won't be plucked from the glass this year."

"You never know, darling. You never know," Uncle sighs, "You best be off."

"Thanks for everything, Uncle!" I continue, and walk out of the store.

I gather with the other 13 year olds, and I hear rumors a boy will be killed for not coming. That's a rare occurrence, especially around these parts. I can't help but wonder whom they speak of. Suddenly, a woman that stands out more than Uncle Kive's house walks on stage smiling. Her name is Effie Trinket, the lady that picks out the ones almost certain for death. This year she has aqua hair and a bright blue green dress that has lots of unneeded cloth.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" She chirps happily. Everyone is focusing on Effie now.

"Ladies First!" She says. Then Effie click-clacks in her sparkly high heels over to the glass bowl on the left side of the stage. She swirls her hand around tauntingly, making some in the crowd stir.

"Ah, let's see… the lucky girl is… Iris Malbore! Please step up to the stage!"

I can't breathe. My peripheral vision is blackened, and my head spins. Some girls behind me start shoving me forcefully onto the stage, and I shift back to reality. I start walking, knees wobbling, up onto the platform. All eyes are on me. I have a terrible fear of crowds, and I want to throw up.

Effie ignores me and trots over to the boy glass.

"Let's continue! The lucky boy is… Amaranth Grant! Please come up here!"

Amaranth…I don't think I've met him before. Disturbing my thoughts, a broad-shouldered boy walks up to the stage. I might've seen him somewhere. I'll remember soon enough. He has neat black hair, a slightly tanned body, and noticeable bright green eyes. He stares at me, and my face gets unusually hot.

"Well, give these tributes a round of applause!" Effie concludes.

I see poor Alee in the crowd, along with Father, looking very pained. A group of Peacekeepers herd the two of us into the Justice Building. I'm pushed into solitude, and I wait calmly on a soft couch. Here I'll say my last good-byes to my loved ones.

Alee jumps onto me, hugging me tightly. I wrap my arms around her slowly. This may be our last time together. Father walks up to me and puts a hand on my shoulder.

"Good luck, Iris," He says, and with that, he was gone. He was never one for good-byes. Uncle Kive walks in and chuckles, "Not gonna be plucked from the glass, huh?" He holds a black laced necklace up to show me. It has a long piece of chalk on the end. Does he want me to use that for drawing a transmutation circle?

"Use this, Iris. I know you can do it. Just prey it'll be solid ground," He says, handing the jewelry to me. I clasp it in my hand. I know what he means by solid ground. We can't draw transmutation circles with chalk on sand or mud. We need solid ground to perform alchemy.

"Thanks, Kives," I sigh, putting the lace around my neck.

He nods solemnly and leaves. Alee still grasps me.

"I love you, Alee, but I think it's time for you to leave," I say, and she looks up at my face.

"Bye sis," she whimpers, and sprints out of the room, chasing after Father in a hurry.

I look down at my chalk. Let's hope it doesn't rain too much in the arena.

"Eh hem," a voice says, and I look up quickly. It's a Peacekeeper. It's odd that he would speak- I have barely heard them speak.

The train ride is smooth- quicker than the small wagon we have back in the fields, not to mention nicer and air-conditioned. It even seems rather cold.

The outside world is moving fast, almost hypnotizing me. The window is the only thing that separates my hand from reaching out to touch the flying wind.

"It's nice, eh?" a voice says from behind. It's Amaranth. He's not looking at me directly, but staring out the window.

"Have I met you before…I mean before the reaping?" I wonder, causing him to look at me in the eyes.

"Indeed we have, Iris, don't you remember?" he says, sitting across from me on a parallel sofa.

"I don't recall…" I sigh, and he smirks. What's he thinking?

"Your mother taught us—" he starts, and points to the chalk.

"Let's not say it aloud… I mean to give away our little secret," I suggest.

"Agreed. How about Wisteria?"

"Wisteria? Like that tree with those beautiful flowers?"

"It's my favorite tree to say the least"

"Okay, then. Wisteria forever and always, then."

"Forever and always, huh? Okay, well, my father gave me some chalk, too. We'll change Hunger Games history, eh?"

"I'm surprised two of us got in this year."

"Pretty weird indeed. We better only use it when necessary."

Footsteps click outside of the train cabin.

"'Ello, 'ello!" says a woman with long legs, black hair, green eyes, and small smile. She must be our mentor…

"Who are you?" Amaranth wonders, clueless.

"I, Yasu Sato, am your mentor!" She exclaims, a little too energetic.

"Oh, okay. I wasn't expecting the only female victor to be our mentor… what about that guy, Christmas?" I comment, making Yasu a little hot tempered.

"You mean you don't think I'm good enough to be your mentor? Being sexist? I'm strong! I swear!" She defends herself, "and also, Christmas kicked the bucket last week." That last part she said in a whisper.

"Yeah, Iris! Don't be so mean! She was smart enough to stay alive!" Amaranth butts in.

"It looks like someone has a crush, Amaranth!" I point out, and he yells, blushing.

"I'll kill you!"

"Hey now, calm down you two! I'm flattered, Amaranth, but I'm married," Yasu giggles, showing her index finger with a planted diamond.

With all that noise we barely noticed someone walking up.

"Well, it's good to know all is well here! It's time for dinner, everyone!" the one and only Effie Trinket interrupts.

We all cool down and walk down to the dinner cab on the train. The room was almost as wonderful as the food. Almost.

The food's flavor exploded in your mouth compared to the bitter, flavorless, and stale food we lived with back in district 9. Like a painting, it had different mediums. Fresh sauce made of tomatoes, noodles from grain, meatballs from beef, and garlic from a plant. They call it spaghetti.

"Really? You've never had noodles and garlic bread before?" Yasu wonders. She's a filthy rich victor, of course she doesn't know about the underbelly of district 9. I am simply a pointless tick on that underbelly.

"I've had noodles on rare occasions. But I've never had meatballs or this garlic bread. Garlic bread is delicious, by the way. Do you happen to have more of it?" I explain, and the rich folk at the table look amazed. It is going to be a long train ride.

**Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I'll update again by probably next Sunday/Monday (that being June 2-3 2012). Yasu, by the way, means 'peace'. My friend, Hikari (the real one, not from Hikari and Aki), hates crossovers, but in this story, you can just look up 'alchemy' and know what it is to understand the transmutation circles, etc. I was looking for an idea to add a plot twist to the arena/ the characters, and I thought up 'it would be epic if district 9 was alchemy' and BING! Alchemists in the arena- genius- especially if no one, but a few, knew what alchemy was. Sorry for the long note, but I enjoy typing a lot… **

_**Also, if you read my stories, there is something interesting about them in common. **_**I'll read and review some of your stories if you get it right in review below. If your username is a cool name, I may use it as a tribute's name. Thanks again for reading! I love all of you, my friends! **

**-PeacE out!**


	2. Felia

**Hello all readers! As of the day, June 3 2012, only two people have read my story. This would be I and someone else. So… thanks for continuing to read to chapter two. That means: A. you enjoyed chapter 1 B. You just wanted to see what dreadful junk I typed up for chapter 2. Either way, I thank you! Let's continue, okay?**

"Ow, stop it! It burns!" I exclaim, but the stylists don't stop. They are covering my body with this ointment jell that feels like it's burning me. They say it removes dirt and hairs in one easy go. Yeah, right!

I'm stripped naked in a room at the Style center, surrounded by three women fixing up my worn down body to make it 'glow'.

"Sit still and relax! We'll style your hair next," Stylist #1 says. Her name is Nirvana. She has yellow everywhere on her- from yellow contacts to a tattoo on the back of her left leg of a golden eagle. Her skin even seemed to have a golden tint.

"I'll get those blemishes on her face, okay?" Stylist #2 asks. Her name is Anita. Her theme is deep scarlet. Red-dyed hair and a bushy dress with different shades of red mixed in.

"No! I'm doing that! Why don't you fix her feet?" The third and final (thank god!) stylist, whose name is Candia, explains. Candia's style is blue. She has bright blue eyes, blue hair, and long blue stockings.

Heck, I think I'll just call them Primary colors. So, Anita scrubs my feet with a sponge that feels like sand paper, Nirvana brushes through my tangled hair, and Candia puts a white paste on my face and whispers under her breath, "This'll get rid of all those little blackheads!"

They're treating me like one of those wheat dolls we had back home when Alee and me were younger. Mother made them precisely out of some dried stalks, and then we got to decorate their bodies with scraps of cloth. I don't know where mine went, but Alee still sleeps with hers.

Tears well up in my eyes, and Candia quickly wipes them off. "What's wrong, dear?" she asks.

"May I speak?"

"Of course you may, sweetie."

"When I was little, my mother made my sister and me these husk dolls. We would decorate and play with them. I guess, well, I guess I feel like one of those dolls, okay?" I comment.

"Oh, baby, we're just trying to make you look beautiful!" Anita chuckles, continuing to clean my feet.

"Is this my client?" a high voice asks. It must be my main stylist. They get to decide what you wear.

All three of the girls perk up at attention, standing straight and holding up a salute. What?

"I am Felia the Great. I will be your stylist until the end. Until that time, you must show me the upmost respect, a fine example being my right-hands here. If you may…" She starts. Felia is orange. Her skin is literally orange. Her finger nails, the hair, the clothes, all that carroty color.

The stylists step out of the way so Felia can examine her specimen better. She steps forth and pokes me under my ribcage. I flinch and gasp, "What the hell?"

"Got you! I bet I was really snotty and rich back there, huh?" Felia laughs, still in that stupid high squeaky voice.

"I still think you are," I say flatly.

Felia stops abruptly and stares into my eyes.

"How dare you comment on my style, you priss!" She yells, and I keep cool.

The three second-class stylists step in front of me protectively, and Felia is shocked.

"Ugh, fine. Let's get down to business," Felia finally mutters.

"What makes you unique, Iris Malbore?" Felia asks seriously.

"May I answer in complete truth?"

"Yes, please, continue."

"Alchemy."

"What in the good heavens is that?"

"Must I explain?"

"Please do!"

"It is the mythical art of equivalent exchange. Only a few selected people in District 9 know how to perform it. We need to be able to draw a circle with chalk to make a transmutation circle. Only truly talented alchemists can use alchemy with their bare hands. One example is the ancient legend of two brothers looking for the philosopher's stone so they can repair their bodies after attempting the banned art of human transmutation- trying to bring their dead mother back to life. The younger brother, Alphonse, loses his whole body, and the older brother, Edward, loses his arm and a leg. Ed can perform alchemy without a circle, and therefore can transmute his auto mail arm into weapons at will," I spill out, and the four of them stare at me, and I can't help but feel a little smart. It all seems to go over Felia's head, however.

"What does the philosopher's stone do?" Felia interrupts the silence, and I look up at her. She's looking at the chalk still strung around my neck.

"It supposedly cuts out the equivalent exchange part in the deal, but there's another legend that it grants immortality," I explain.

"That's amazing!" Anita exclaims.

"Can you show us an example?"

"I don't see why not…" and I add, "But don't tell anyone anything about this or else I will personally slit your neck open." That causes worried looks in the small crowd.

I smirk as I bend over onto the red carpet with my chalk.

"On the carpet?" Nirvana asks.

I draw a circle in another circle, then a square inside of the larger circle. Inside of all of the shapes is a diamond.

"Let's see…" I sigh, and stand up. I take a vase off of a shelf nearby. "This'll do…"

I bring it over to the circle and drop it, shattering the vase into five large pieces. The crowd gasps and one shrieks.

I lean down and put my hands on the outline of the circle.

A faint blue light glows on the edge of the circle and I smile. In a blink, the vase is just as it was before this ordeal.

"Cool!"

"Okay, because you don't want anyone to know about this 'power' that you have, let's stick to the wheat. Normally the costumes are farmers, but this year, since you're special, we'll switch it up a bit. How about husk dolls?" Felia starts to elaborate on the ideas flowing into her mind.

"You were listening?" I wonder.

"Indeed. I was just standing in the corner patiently, doll," She giggles at the pun.

"Oh please, don't wrap me in dried wheat!" I exclaim, but she doesn't care. I guess I'll just have to live with this lady.

Felia pulls out a book with an orange cover and light orange paper to start sketching my dress. She must really like that color…

** Hello again! How did you enjoy it! Even if you didn't, please leave review! If your username is cool, I may even make you a capital citizen or tribute! Sorry about the overload info on alchemy. Hehe… No Amaranth in this, either. I have no idea what her costume will look like. I have decided to update each of my stories once a month, and considering its summer where I live, I'll have more time to write/edit my stories. **

** p.s. Deleted Bits: **

** 1. I originally was planning to call it 'yams' (alchemy) ^.^ hehe Also I was thinking of calling Iris 'Wisteria' but that seems too much like James Patterson's Wisty in Witch and Wizard. **

** 2. I was going to make Iris hate the color orange because the people who killed her mother were wearing orange. I then deleted it because it seemed stupid after reading it over. **

** To the Soul Eater fans out there: My story Hikari and Aki has sorta lost my interest, but I'm going to try to keep it going…**


	3. Into the Training Center

**Hi, ElizaBell3 here! I personally don't like writing the beginning of this story, so I may skip directly to the actual games… I had to reread the beginning of the book multiple times so I could write these first chapters. Please enjoy! I'll try to not ruin this story for you…**

I look in the mirror nervously, biting my bottom lip. With a sigh I turn to Amaranth.

"How do I look?" I say nervously, making him glance down at my attire. Felia made me wear an itchy costume made of weaved wheat. 'A living Husk doll!' she said, and I replied, 'Aren't I supposed to look attractive?' She took that the wrong way and exclaimed, 'Aren't Husk dolls supposed to be ugly?'

It was a short dress above my knees with a rope belt, open shoulders, and a hair band with a miniature hat on my brushed and cut hair. My hair is now right on my shoulders and I have side bangs which I really didn't mind.

Amaranth looks forward and answers, "Just fine, and but thankfully I didn't bring up the husk doll!" He chuckles. He's wearing the predictable stereotypical farmer's outfit, with blue-jean over-alls and a weaved farmer's hat. I roll my eyes at his comment.

"Yeah, yeah…"

The beginning ceremonies are about to begin. We are loaded into the 9th chariot- being pulled by 4 tan horses.

The opening music starts, and I look at Amaranth for a second. He seems perfectly calm. I mentally slap myself for looking at him and making him ask, "What?"

I smile sheepishly and reply in whisper, "N-nothing!"

"You're nervous aren't you?" He says, looking forward.

I look forward as the large doors open and reveal the bright light of day, where thousands of people stand, waiting just to see us.

"A little bit…. Okay maybe a lot!" I gush.

"Just relax… Will they all remember us in twenty years?" He speaks out of the corner of his mouth.

The chariot begins to pull forward, which startles me, but I cool down. I've been in chariots before- just not anything so nice. In the fields, we'd have a horse and cart to collect grain that people had gathered and bring it into town. My father drives one of those carts, and when I was little I would ride with him. That thought brought a smile to my face.

"Only if we survive," I reply plainly, making Amaranth give a small grin.

I smile a cheesy grin as the horses carry us through the parade. Amaranth doesn't really smile- but more of a half smile. The chariots line up along the City circle and the music cuts off. The president, a petite man with crisp white hair, gives us the official welcome from the balcony of his mansion. The anthems plays and we circle around once more and disappear into the large building- where we'll be held captive until the games start. The Training Center.

The building is very nice, so I don't mind the elevator ride upwards. I've never been in an elevator before these unfortunate events… not like anyone needed one back in district nine… Most homes were one story. We arrive in our apartment. My room is like a 20 star hotel…. If they existed.

The comfortable beds, clean showers, and so forth… But I remember other tributes were here before us… and they were slaughtered. I shiver at the dark thought. I stand a chance, we all do, but only one survives. One out of twenty four- I think about that for a second. I may never see my home again, my sister's smile, the grain fields. All of that alchemy practice would've gone to waste. My mother wouldn't appreciate that. So I'll win; win for my mother and my pride. But that means murder.

**Sorry it's so short… I should get to the actual games in two chapters. Then I'll update more often because I find writing that sort of stuff more fun. Thank you for reading, my friends. -Eliza**


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